


The Devil Goes To School.

by Gevar



Series: What if the Devil is one of us? [1]
Category: Lucifer (Comic), Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-11-05 14:34:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11015382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gevar/pseuds/Gevar
Summary: A high school girl is dead. Chloe suspects foul play. Lucifer is in the wrong time, wrong place.





	1. The LUX Club.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Come with me to LUX,” Ella announces, makes a sudden grab for Chloe’s laptop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which everyone's a student at Vertigo High. That's all. An AU nobody needs or wants. Unbeta, but will revise in the future.

The white paper sheet glares at her. The stationary cursor flickers, mocking her to write something. Anything. But her mind’s blank. Much like the wordless document reflecting her frown back at Chloe Decker.

“You’ve been starting at that screen for half an hour,” Ella Lopez quips, “Without blinking.”

“I know,” Chloe retorts, “I’ll keep staring until I write some goddamn words on it.”

“Maybe you should take a break,” Ella suggests, her fingers clacking on the keyboard. With rapid clicks. Chloe’s instantly jealous.  

“I already had many breaks,” Chloe sighs, yawns into her hand. She jabs her forefinger against her laptop’s monitor. “Still nothing.”

Ella twists her chair so she’s staring at Chloe, eyes the laptop briefly. “Nobody reads the school’s paper,” Ella points out and amends, “except the Drama Club.”

“We still have the obligation to write and inform the students something informative.”

“Something _informative_?” Ella lets out this loud, air-choking laugh. “Chloe, I write about _Klingons_ for the school’s newspaper.”

“Dan already submitted his piece,” Chloe groans, ignoring Ella’s words, sinking lower into her chair. Maybe she’ll melt in her chair and her article will write itself tomorrow.

Ella rolls her eyes. “Dan is in charge of the weather forecast. Of course, he has something to write about every day,” Ella gets to her feet, powers the computer down. “When was the last time you go out and have some fun?”

“I’m having the time of my life when I’m writing. I’m writing now.”

Ella slides next to Chloe’s desk. Hands crossed over her chest. Her dark eyes are impossibly huge, sparkling even. Her saccharine smile is enough to melt even the toughest, meanest student at Vertigo High. “No, you’re not. You look constipated,” comes out more like a compliment than a riposte.

“Do not,” Chloe protests, sneaks a glance at her reflection on the laptop’s screen. Nothing to indicate that her profile’s haggard and _constipated_ as Ella claims. She leans back into her seat, steepling her hands underneath her chin. She closes her eyes.

“Come with me to LUX,” Ella announces, makes a sudden grab for Chloe’s laptop. She expertly closes all the twenty tabs Chloe had in a matter of seconds. Shuts the laptop down, Ella places the laptop back into Chloe’s backpack.

She lets out a sigh of disgust. “Is that a gym? I hate exercising.” Chloe opens one eye, gazing at Ella.

“We’re not going to exercise,” Ella counters, clasping Chloe’s hands and yanks her up from the chair with relative ease. Surprising Chloe with her strength. Considering Ella’s petite, at five-two than Chloe who stands at a good height of five-seven. “Maybe lose a sweat or two. But it’s less torturing than exercising.”

“Ella, please don’t tell me we’re going to a club.” Chloe “The last time I check, we’re _sixteen_ and _looked_ sixteen,” she says, hands on her hips for emphasis. “Not to mention, my dad’s a cop. He’s going to kill me after I rot in jail.”

“Oh, right. You’re new,” Ella says, slapping her palm against her forehead. “Relax, it’s not a real club. It’s the LUX Club.” Ella hooks her arm around Chloe’s, drags her away towards the door.

Chloe shoots an alarmed stare at Ella, “The _what_ club?”

Ella waves her hand dismissively. Her other hand gripping Chloe’s upper arm tightly. “Don’t overthink it. It’s legal for minors. The school sanctioned club. The club organised a few meetings in the gym every week. All students are welcomed to join. Who knows maybe you’ll get some idea from the LUX?”

“Alright,” Chloe concedes, “But I’m going home early.”

* * *

Chloe Decker can’t say for sure, if this is really the gym. Sure, she recognises the bleachers. Usually empty on normal days, because sports isn’t Vertigo High’s strongest suit, now filled with teens lounging around. Sprawled from one end to the other, only teenagers—her fellow students. No teachers in sight.

The music is deafening, as electronic beats ripple throughout the floor from the corners of the gym. Chloe catches some verses spoken in not-English. Not so much as spoken, but guttural growling of musical verses. Sounds gibberish to Chloe’s ears, yet everyone finds nothing wrong with the music selection. Dancing away like they’re in a club. Just a few drinks away from what Chloe classified as ‘high as a kite’ condition.

The lights are dizzyingly colourful on the gym’s court floor. Bodies squashed together on the dance floor, transferring slick sweat and other bodily fluids Chloe doesn’t spend her time speculating between exposed skins. Hardly leaving any space for anyone to move around properly. Without being fondled or touched.

The refreshment table is located nearby the stage. Bottles, empty and full, piling up on the table sky high. Inside each bottle, liquid sloshing around due to the music’s boisterous soundwaves. Tawny-coloured liquid. Like the colour of whiskey, bourbon and scotch. Booze.

Somewhere between the dance floor and the refreshment table, Chloe swears she’d seen a boy, shirtless and horns protruding from his temples, running passed by her. She blinks twice. No horns, but still shirtless. It must be just her imagination. Ella returns with two red plastic cups, thrusts one to Chloe.

Chloe sniffs it once. Smells harmless enough. But John Decker taught her to be suspicious of any drinks in a wild party. Even if that drink comes from sweet and church-going Ella.

“That’s just soda,” Ella chimes in, noticing Chloe’s apprehension towards the red cup. “Don’t worry, the LUX Club guarantees all their parties are illegal substances-free. No booze, drugs or any form of alcohol,” Ella reassures, sipping from her cup. “This is a clean club.”

Chloe casts a sweeping gaze around the gym. The stench of wild, probably unprotected sex hangs in the air, thick that one could choke on it. Mingled in that stench is a scent Chloe can’t put a name to. But it smells terribly awful, Chloe almost gag. Clean club, this ain’t it. And Ella’s right. Chloe Decker might find her story in this gym after all.

“What is this place?”

“It’s the gym,” Ella replies, and adds a soft ‘duh’.

“I know this is a gym but—” Chloe’s next word dies on her lips, as she ducks. A stray shoe—no, three inch stiletto—flying through the air, close to taking Chloe’s right eye out.

“The club’s dedicated to having a good, fun time,” Ella comments, like it’s supposed to answer all Chloe’s unasked questions. It doesn’t.

“Oh,” Ella says, suddenly draining her cup empty. She crushes the cup and tosses it into the bin. “It’s about to start,” she mutters, grasping Chloe’s wrist. Her free hand motioning at the stage.

“What’s about to start?” Chloe asks, as they fight their way through the packed dance floor to the stage. A singular black baby grand piano rests on the stage, centre-wise. The baby grand isn’t big, but its mere presence feels like it takes up the entire stage. Standing next to the baby grand is a sharply dressed teen.

“Who’s that?” Chloe whispers, because the music stops without a warning. Despite the fact the gym’s filled with chatty teenagers, the gym’s deathly silent for more than a few seconds. And she finds this a little creepy.

“That’s Lucifer Morningstar. President of the LUX Club,” Ella murmurs. “The concept of LUX is _his_ brainchild.”

“As in the devil? Like that’s really his name,” Chloe retorts, incredulous shining in her tone. She regards the teen on stage briefly, taking note of his black tux customised to fit his form like a glove. She can’t quite make out this Morningstar kid’s profile. She figures he’d be one good looking kid, from the expressions of his audiences.

“Uh huh,” Ella’s head bobs up and down, “like the devil himself.”

“Who names their kid after the devil?”

Ella shrugs, keeps her eyes on the stage. “Olivia thinks his parents were either some part of a satanic cult or just hippies.”

Chloe’s mouth is half-open when Ella shoves a finger to her lips, “Hush. He’s going to play the piano soon. He rarely performs, but I heard he’s wickedly fantastic with the piano. One could say he plays it like he’s being possessed by some music-lovin’ demon.”

“R-right,” Chloe says, tearing her gaze away from the stage to the dance floor. With all eyes on him, no one won’t pay attention if she disappears to the ‘toilet’. Her dad always said ‘stranger things has happened in the toilet more than he could count on four fingers’—and maybe that’s not the way his metaphor ends, but it fits the occasion.  

If she looks hard enough, there’s a story somewhere waiting to be written. Chloe just has to discover it first.


	2. Who Killed Delilah McCord?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two days later, Delilah McCord is dead. On the front steps of the gymnasium.

Two days later, Delilah McCord is dead. On the front steps of the gymnasium. She’s dressed in white blouse, plaid skirt, knee-high socks and black shoes. Forty-eight hours went by and the investigation closed, a tragic case of accidental overdose. 

Vertigo High mourns for the life lost. But there’s no grand funeral. No eulogy, even by her family. Delilah McCord is a name that will disappear from their lips in a few months.

She’s just another reminder of a young life cut short by her stupid mistake. The thing is, Chloe doesn’t buy that last sentence for one second.

* * *

The thing that Chloe Decker remembers the most about Delilah McCord was her red-stained lip curving into the softest and most fractured smile she’d seen on a girl.

Chloe only seen Delilah a couple of times, across the school’s hallways. Never alone, that Delilah. Always with her boyfriend and his friends. They’re every bit of the jock stereotypes from the labels they wear up to the expensive cars they drive to school. Delilah herself fitted into the clichéd popular cheerleader archetype on appearance alone. Nice pair of rack, gorgeous curly blonde hair that seems to shine butterscotch under the sun and curves that Chloe envied.

But there’s a different Delilah hiding beneath that flirty wink and carefree attitude. Secrets etched on her skin, invisible, like battered bruises of some sort. Chloe didn’t figure it out until it’s too late. Sometimes she wished she had noticed it earlier.

Chloe had seen _that_ Delilah once. In the gymnasium’s broom closet, of all the places. It’s not exactly a broom closet, but along the lines of a space with a desk and an armchair. So, a cramped office in other sense.

Delilah sat on the chair, spine straight as a rod. A chewed pencil sticking out from behind her ear. Her blonde locks bind loosely into a bun. Books splayed open across the desk; each one was thick as a cereal box. Her lips twisting into a smile so child-like, which clashed against the revealing dress clinging to every inch of Delilah’s curves.

“I take it that there’s no toilet here?” Chloe asked, the end of her lips quirked upwards sheepishly.

“Nope, the toilet’s at the end of the corridor,” replied Delilah, directing the pencil’s bud at the door.

“Ah, thanks.” Chloe surveyed the room. If she was a drug-dealing teenager, where would she stashed it? The room was bare, saved for that desk and the chair. No cabinets. No shelves. Not even a tacky painting to mask the hiding spot.

“There’s no drugs here. If that’s what you’re after. Not in LUX Club,” Delilah piped up, returning her gaze to her books. But a knowing smile played on her lips, brief. And a second later, gone.

“I-I, what makes you think I’m looking for drugs?” Chloe stammered, grateful Delilah isn’t paying much attention. Chloe’s a fantastic liar, if she had prepared for it. Clearly, she didn’t expect to be caught way ahead. 

She chuckled. Propped her elbows on the desk, she set her chin on her clasped hands. “You’re not the first person to try to break into the office.”

Chloe lifted her brows at Delilah, “I was that obvious?”

“Not really, but you’re in the Journalism Club, right? He had a few of those poking around before you came along,” she laughed, not malicious in any way. But amused. “It’s nothing new for him,” her voice trailed off, Delilah pursed her lipstick-stained mouth, lost in thought. Her fingers drummed against the table.

Chloe walked closer to the desk. Enough to being able to read several paragraphs of the book Delilah’s on. Maurizio Calvesi’s Caravaggio. “Well, I’m in the Journalism Club. But I’m not looking for a scoop,” Chloe smoothly countered. Lies. “I’m trying to get some for a friend.” More lies.

Delilah shook her head softly. “I can’t help you. I don’t use that crap, need my brain at full capacity. Kevin is a different story, though.”

Damn. There went Chloe’s hope into the drain of dashed dreams. Kevin wasn’t one to talk to Chloe. Even if Chloe twirled her hair and batted her eyelashes, Kevin’s pretty solid as boyfriends go—or so Ella said. Now, she got nothing to write about.

“Thanks,” Chloe replied, cracking the door wide open. Well, she stretched it as slowly as she can, “I guess I’ll have to find it elsewhere.”

“Wait,” Delilah called out, stopping Chloe. Delilah massaged her temple once. Inhaled a large breath before exhaling deeply. “If you desperately want it, Kevin could help you score some,” Delilah offered. This time, her smile doesn’t quite reach up to her blue eyes.

Chloe pivoted on her heels so fast, she nearly smacked her face against the door. The end of her mouth curling into a smile. “You’ll help me?”

“Kevin told me that sometimes people tampered their products. Adding things so that they could make more profit. I don’t want your friend to buy altered drugs that could kill them,” the concern in her voice was genuine. Delilah flipped a page on her notepad. A finger tapping against the notepad. “Your number.” Held out the pen for Chloe. “And weight.”

She’s strangely touched by her concern—not too many kids willing to risk involvement at the cost of their potential prison life. Chloe scribbled her number on the page. Pushed the notepad back to Delilah. She questioned, “When can my friend get it?”

“Kevin doesn’t sell to strangers. Only to his friends. I’ll see what I can do. I promised it won’t take more than three days. Meet me again at school. The girl’s locker. I’ll text you the time,” she answered, tore the paper off from notepad and slipped it into her purse.  

That was the first time Chloe spoke to her. And the last.

Honestly, this was why Chloe Decker doesn’t— _can’t_ —accept the overdose verdict. Delilah McCord still had hope. Hope for a brighter future. Hope in herself that she will make something for herself. Those blue eyes of hers that held fierce determination to succeed. Someone snuffed her life. Not her own doing.

Now, Chloe Decker has a new story that needed to be told. Who killed Delilah McCord?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know there's not much fun stuff in this chapter. Murder is fun, but not funny.


	3. Suspect, Lucifer Morningstar.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just because Chloe didn’t find any drugs the first time, it doesn’t mean there isn’t any. Maybe Delilah found something in LUX worth killing for.

A week later, more stories about Delilah McCord emerged. Stories painted her as a troubled kid. A wild child. A girl who likes to fun. _Too_ much fun. Some are fabricated, Chloe checked. And some, just heartbreakingly true. Stories that reinforced—maybe justified—Delilah’s overdose.

She pushes those thoughts away. She’s not going to set a judgement on Delilah’s character. Chloe Decker is here to catch a killer.

Chloe consults her ‘to do’ checklist. First agenda, retracing Delilah’s last moments. She already had some clues, thanks to her dad’s notepad. Yes, she knows those notepads are off-limits. Delilah’s death isn’t an ongoing investigation, and Chloe hasn’t break any rules per say. Besides what her father doesn’t know, won’t hurt him.

She runs a finger down the suspect list. Not many names. About two. Her boyfriend, Kevin Gonzalez. He’s cleared, having a tight alibi—not being in town for the weekends. Next, her step-dad. He’s cleared too, watching a movie that night.

No witnesses. So, no one had seen if Delilah was high the entire time. Time of death is a little unclear.

After going through those notes, she keeps circling back to LUX. Where Delilah was found. She spent most of her time in LUX, never on the dance floor but that tiny broom closet they dubbed the office. Balancing the club’s expenditures, if Kevin’s words are to be believed. This makes Delilah well-acquainted with the inner workings of LUX Club.

Just because Chloe didn’t find any drugs the first time, it doesn’t mean there isn’t any. Maybe Delilah found something in LUX worth killing for.

Her dad never listed Lucifer Morningstar as a suspect. Chloe isn’t going to make that mistake.

* * *

The gymnasium looked a whole lot different in the morning. The coppery rust from the roof bleeds into the faded white paint on the walls. Hedges around the gym’s compound are withering yellow and overgrown. The windows are cracked, and stained with bird poop.

It’s almost unassuming, really. Chloe would never guess that it’s a den of immoral activities for minors by night fall. Surprisingly fortified for a run-down gym building.

With Delilah’s death, the LUX Club postponed all of their meetings until further notice. So, there goes her chance to snoop around the office. But Chloe has one last trick to pull. Hope to God, her father never finds out.

She tried to break into LUX twice. Failed both times that Chloe resorted to stalking from the dense hedges. It’s been roughly four hours and she hasn’t seen anyone yet in LUX. No suspicious activity. Or any kind of activity to be frank.

She squeezes herself in between the hedges, in the name of blending in the background. It’s bad enough the hedges are wildly untrimmed, poking her ass. She hasn’t eat since she started her stakeout. She pokes her head above the hedges, scanning her surroundings.

Keys rattling. Footsteps grow louder. Someone’s here. At gym. Finally, she’s getting somewhere. Chloe ducks down, presses herself against the ground. Tells herself to lose the heavy breathing. Or risk getting caught.

“You could have just knock the door, Mazikeen would invite you in for a cup of tea,” says a deep voice, smooth like lava sliding off molten rocks that renders Chloe mute. For five seconds. Maybe, fifteen.

Still crouching on all four, she twists her neck, to gain a better look at the speaker. Shiny black Giorgio Armani shoes greet her first. Then, crisp dark navy blue pants that clings to a pair of long legs. Next, freshly pressed blazer that hangs on a wiry body.

It’s her suspect. Lucifer Morningstar. His lips twisting into an eloquent smirk. Sunlight bouncing off his golden-red hair, giving a crown of glowing halo effect around his head.

Chloe draws to her full height—which isn’t much in light of Lucifer’s taller frame. Gathering what’s left of her dignity, she clears her throat. Ignores a twig or two sticking in her hair. Stares into his intelligent blue eyes. Not the kind of blue that reminds her of the skies or the ocean. The intensity of his gaze and his blue eyes—strikes Chloe as the fiery flames blazing electric blue.

Chloe has to admit that up close, he’s beautiful. There’s an angelic quality to his looks. Almost blindly distracting. Chloe shakes her head, trying to regain her fleeting self-respect and say something. Something authority-like. Something that would make Lucifer take her seriously. Something like—

“You got nice _shiny_ shoes,” is all she manages. The next few words come out as a string on incoherent mumbling. Chloe clams her mouth shut. Wishing the ground to swallow her up.

“They are, I had them shined this morning.”

“Chloe Decker, Journalism Club,” she tries again, projecting confidence and professionalism.

He arches a dark brow, with poise and elegance of a gentleman. “Journalism Club? Sounds more like you’d be fitting for a homicide detective with that tone,” Lucifer scoffs, in his clipped British accent.

“Well, my dad’s the detective. There isn’t any club that remotely resembles the police force,” Chloe catches herself before she went on the story of her life. _Focus._ “But I’m not here to talk about myself.”

The door to the gymnasium parts open, revealing a waif-like girl standing. Waiting for them. The girl trains her eyes on Lucifer, barely acknowledging Chloe. “Would you like to take your affairs inside, Lucifer?” Her voice is raspy, with a slight snake’s hiss coiling around her words. Several continents melded together in her accent, too foreign that Chloe can’t place her anywhere in the map.

Lucifer glances at Mazikeen and his smirk softens to an amused smile. “Yes, I do, Mazikeen. Would you be kind to prepare some refreshment for our guest? I suspect that she wouldn’t leave until she gets her answers.”

“Yes, m-Lucifer,” replies Mazikeen, disappearing into the gym.  

Lucifer opens his strides—wide, casual and arrogant—entering the gym. Chloe jogs after him, the boy has long legs. Together, they end up at the stage. Lucifer takes a seat on the piano seat. Chloe’s stiff as a tree stump, eyeing the baby grand piano. 

“Do enlighten us the reason behind your visit?” Lucifer asks, playing some jaunty tune Chloe never heard of. Mazikeen joins them, hands Chloe a chilled soda and a glass of blue-liquid to Lucifer. Then takes her place beside him. She hardly speaks, her face bears no expression and yet her eyes are concentrated on Chloe now.

Chloe forges on, keeps the trembling out from her voice. Thinks back to Delilah and her hopeful eyes. Chloe utters, “Delilah McCord.”

Nonchalance slipping into his monotonous reply, “Tragic death. What about it?” His posture is formal, like one who practiced the art of performing the piano, and at the same time slacking without tension. If there’s any tension reacting to her question, it’s not Lucifer. It’s Mazikeen.

“Rumour has it that she did the budgeting for your club.”

“Not a rumour. Delilah had proved to be an asset in managing the club’s funds.” He’s staring at her. His eyes are disturbingly empty, yet the jovial grin remains. It sends chills down Chloe’s spine, burns the flesh beneath her skin that she’s sweating profusely.

“That means she spent a lot of time hanging around LUX. With bookkeeping duties, she must have seen more than she bargained for.”

Lucifer pulls the shutter over the piano keys, propping one arm over the baby grand’s cover. Tosses a lazy glance at Chloe. “And what would that be? What had she witnessed that necessitated her death?”

Chloe shrugs, “I don’t know.” She cracks her notepad open, runs her fingers over the highlighted words. “Drugs. Booze. Orgy.”

He exchanges a secretive look with Mazikeen, then turns to face Chloe. His smirk grows impossibly wider, impish even. “You think that I killed her because I supplied alcoholic beverages, drugs and sex to the other students?”

“Unprotected wild sex,” Chloe automatically corrects. Not the words she’s supposed to say out loud. She has no qualms with sex between students—it’s just better to play safe than sorry. “People have killed for less.”

“What are your thoughts on the subject, Mazikeen?” he quizzes, tilting his head sideways. There’s something in those eyes of his. They’re not empty now. Adoration playing in his irises, perhaps.

Mazikeen rolls her greyish eyes—it seems to Chloe, only the right eye moves. Each word that leaves Mazikeen’s lips is tainted with a snarling lisp. “That statement holds some merit. However, LUX Club doesn’t indulge in those kind of illegal substances. She attended a meeting. She should know we only served soda.” 

Chloe strains to catch Mazikeen’s words properly. Her forehead creasing, she leans closer to Mazikeen’s lips—Mazikeen takes a step backwards. Chloe shifts her sight from Mazikeen to Lucifer, arching a brow at him. “The fact that I saw the LUX in its finest, means I don’t believe your club is clean as you claimed it is.”

“I don’t make claims. It is the truth,” he says, sipping his drink. He has lovely feathered eyelashes, enhancing his androgynous look. Not that Chloe’s into that, she likes traditional boys. Like her dad. 

“Then you don’t mind me looking through those records myself?”

“You’re welcome to help yourself to LUX’s expenditure records,” Lucifer motions at Mazikeen to lead the way. “Maybe you’ll find your elusive killer. Perhaps you won’t. Either way, it’d be a delight to see your conviction challenged.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm aware Lucifer Morningstar and Mazikeen doesn't match up with FOX's version. I tried to write the comic versions instead. Because why not? At the same time, I'm not even sure if I catch the comic versions' essence correctly.


	4. The LUX Connection.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Turns out that LUX is absolutely clean.

Turns out that LUX is absolutely clean. No funny numbers. No secret bribes to teachers. No suspicious purchases. Though she wonders why LUX spent a fortune buying crappy music albums.

Her one solid lead is nothing but one teenager with skewed priorities in life.

Chloe flings her notepad against her bed. Goes to stand in front of her ‘mystery board’. Delilah’s picture tacked in the middle, surrounded by three badly taken photos of Kevin, the LUX and Lucifer. She crosses out the word ‘weird accounting’ off from the board.

Lucifer Morningstar. His crime seemed to be his conceited and hot-looking ass. There’s nothing much she could gather from Mazikeen, except Mazikeen has speech impediment. Perhaps, a tad too protective of Lucifer.  

“Who killed you, Delilah?”

For a popular girl, she doesn’t have much friends. Outside of Kevin, there are only classmates who barely knew her beyond her name. And yet she’s almost a permanent fixed in the LUX.

Chloe flops onto her bed, going through her notes one last time. For all her pretty looks, Delilah’s not part of the cheerleading squad. Or any club, aside from the LUX Club. The list on Delilah’s acquaintances doesn’t provide much help than the suspect list.  

See, the LUX connection again. Despite all the evidences she’d seen—she went through those expenditure records alone for five hours and Delilah’s meticulous as hell—LUX has no motive to kill Delilah. In fact they needed her more than she needed them.

A yawn or three escapes from her mouth. Chloe rubs her eyes. She needs a fresh set of new eyes. Maybe Ella can help. The school paper has enough Klingon material to digest. They could afford to push back Ella’s masterpiece, the Klingons’ convoluted forehead history, for another couple of weeks.

* * *

During lunch, Chloe recaps her encounter with Lucifer Morningstar to a tentatively-listening Ella. “So, what do you think?” Chloe asks, as she finishes her diagram on Delilah’s murder.

Ella gazes down at the diagram, biting her under-lip. “So, Lucifer is no longer your suspect?”

Chloe nods, taking a large bite out of her hotdog. “But everything revolves around LUX.”

“Maybe it’s not the club,” Ella suggests, and Chloe almost choke on her hotdog. “Maybe, it’s someone connected to Delilah. Nothing to do with the club at all,” Ella explains.

“Were you listening to my story at all?”

Ella holds a hand up, “Listen, you said Lucifer has no motive to kill Delilah,” she pauses, points her chin at Kevin’s direction, “How about Kevin?”

Chloe shakes her head lightly, “Kevin? He loved Delilah. I remembered my dad told me he passed out when he heard the news of Delilah’s death. He got a solid alibi to boot.”

Ella dips a French fry into ketchup, munching. “True, he’s a douchebag. But he doesn’t looked like he could kill. Didn’t you say that he’s dealing drugs?”

“Yeah. It’s Delilah’s words. I don’t have proof that he’s dealing them.” Chloe finishes her burger, folding the burger wrapper into small pieces. Then quenches her thirst with her coke.  

Ella raises an eyebrow, “Then find some proof.”

“Easier said than done. He doesn’t deal to strangers, apparently. Something that Delilah told me before she died,” Chloe says, sliding her notebook into her bag.

Ella frowns. “It’s too bad. Where was the deal going to take place? The LUX?”

“No, the girl’s locker.”

“Not the LUX then. Imagine if Kevin sells at LUX,” Ella trails off, her mouth hangs slightly open. Her head tilting at an awkward angle. Her dark eyes has that focused look. The one that she has when someone hot catches her fancy.

Chloe snaps her fingers in front of Ella. No response. Yup, she’s lost in her own devouring hottie world. Chloe tosses a look over her shoulder. What could possibly make Ella lost interest in the middle of their stimulating conversation?

Speak of the kid with the devil’s name and he appears. Not appear out of nowhere, like he’s the devil. Because he’s not _the_ devil. Because that’s _ridiculous_. Chloe’s a sceptic, raised agnostic by her father. Lucifer Morningstar, just a kid with a trust fund to back up his lavish lifestyle.

Lucifer Morningstar, who fit in more with preppy students than in Vertigo High, strolls into the cafeteria. All decked in tailored suit. Who wears suit to school? Barely glancing at them. Like the rest of them are beneath the grime of his black shiny shoes.

Except Mazikeen.

Mazikeen kinda shares the same contempt look—even though her face is a vacant mask. And her grey eyes—eye, more likely—equally hollow, except when she’s staring at Lucifer. It’s the look that Chloe equates to unflinching admiration. Or passionate obsession. Or both.

It’s when Lucifer and Mazikeen exit the cafeteria, Ella resumes being functional Ella. “So, what were we talking about?” Ella asks, returning her sight on her lunch. Much of her plate’s contents are nearly finished. Saved for the apple.

Chloe scan the cafeteria for the two. They’re left the cafeteria. She leans close to Ella, half-whispering, “What’s the deal between Mazikeen and Morningstar?”

“Mazikeen Smith? Oh, she’s like the Vice President of the LUX, I think. Super loyal to Lucifer. I’m banking my bet on secret bodyguard sent to keep an eye on him.”

“Don’t you find her strange?”

“Define strange. We got tons of students with questionable fashion choice, life choices or both. Mazikeen isn’t one of them,” Ella says, taking a last bite out of her apple.

Chloe shrugs. “Can’t put my finger on it. Something about her feels unnatural,” she says, motioning vaguely around her face.

“Car accident. Left side of her face is paralysed, or something,” Ella answers, gathering her tray. “So, what’s your next move?”

Chloe gets to her feet, picks up her tray. “I think I got an idea. I’ll need your help,” Chloe says, grinning. They make their way towards the tray station.

It’s about four steps forward, when Ella suddenly stops in her tracks. Presses her lips into a thin line, she arches her brow and says, “Why do I get the feeling it’s going to blow up in our faces?”

“It won’t,” Chloe reassures. _Hopefully._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ella was meant to have a minor role. But I'm enjoying her too much. Next, two separate investigations collide.


	5. Two Investigations, One Team.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Next to Chloe, Ella opens her mouth, then shuts it close and opens it again. For a full minute, the car is silent. Her forehead all creased, her huge eyes narrowing at Chloe. “So you were working on a hunch?”

Chloe inclines her body against the dashboard, squinting against the glare in the distance. She’s perched on the edge of her passenger’s seat. Cupping both hands over her eyes. She sees nothing.

Next to Chloe, Ella opens her mouth, then shuts it close and opens it again. For a full minute, the car is silent. Her forehead all creased, her huge eyes narrowing at Chloe. “So you were working on a hunch?”

“A well-educated hunch,” Chloe assures. She gazes at her notebook once more. Just to make sure she copied off the right address. So far, she spots Kevin’s sedan at the driveway. Definitely the right place.

“What if he didn’t believe our lies about Kevin distributing drugs in LUX?” Ella demands, her pitch increases an octave higher, and folds her arms over her stomach.

“He has to do something about it. Rumours will fly and this school’s a little touchy on drugs and alcohol. They already have a bad record. Another strike on the drug front and the school district administration is going to close Vertigo High down.”

“What if your hunch fails?” Ella argues, her doe-like eyes alarmingly widens and suddenly grasping Chloe’s forearm tightly than she might have cut the blood supply in Chloe’s arm.

“Then we go for Plan B,” Chloe says, looking at Ella with a confident smile. Attempts to yank her arm from Ella’s iron grip and fails.

“Plan B?”

Chloe curtly nods, “Yes, Plan B.”

“And what does Plan B entails?” Ella quizzes, gulping her saliva. 

Chloe gestures at Ella absentmindedly, “To send you to seduce Kevin.”

Her mouth forms an ‘O’ shape. “Wait, _what_?” Ella gasps as the realisation sinks in and settles on her face. Ella stutters, hands flying to her chest. “ _Me_? Why _me_? You know Kevin’s a one girl guy.”

“I know, but you’re the sweetest girl I know in school. You might not even need to seduce him, just offer a shoulder for him to cry on and ask about his drug activities,” Chloe mutters, gazing at the neat row of houses in front of them. “It’s either you or Dan. Dan isn’t Kevin’s type.”

Ella looks at Chloe, as if Chloe has grown a second head. Opens her mouth to reply, when Chloe spots their targets getting out from a cab and repeatedly slaps Ella’s thigh, effectively cutting Ella from replying.

“They’re here. Follow my lead,” Chloe mentions, her lips twitching into an excited smile. She gets out from the car, marching towards one of the houses.

“Wait for me,” Ella calls out, locks the car behind her and quickly follows after Chloe.  

* * *

Mazikeen produces a silk handkerchief from her dress. There’s a letter ‘M’ embroidered at its corner, in elaborate Spenserian script. A gift from a fallen friend. She polishes her blade with it. Her words are all garbled, yet it doesn’t hinder him from understanding. “Shall I bring my blade to this unplanned meeting?”

He’s not one to display emotive expression. A mere curl of his upper lip speaks to her eloquently as when he speaks. “That won’t be necessary, Mazikeen. I plan to have a quick chat with Kevin. To verify if the anonymous tip has some truth.”

Lately, she can’t shake the creeping sensation of being watched. Mazikeen sheaths her blade into its scabbard. Fastening the scabbard’s Velcro path around her thigh, she smoothens the creases on her floral patterned skirt. “What would you have me to do if the tip proves to be true?”

“I reserved your particular skillset for _other_ matters, Mazikeen. Kevin doesn’t fall into that spectrum. But I suspect a little sneak peek to Hell shall do the trick.”

Averts her gaze from the windows to grace an inquiring glance at Lucifer. “If he’s not guilty, what then?”

“I wouldn’t hold off any interesting appointments that may accidentally drop into our laps,” Lucifer says, a grin slithering across his handsome features. “Until then, let’s see how this plays out shall we?”

“As you wish.”

The vehicle they’re in, pulls to a stop, ahead of a distinct-looking mansion. Colonial, Mazikeen thinks, with a hint of Spanish influences on the rooftops. Five years ago, she couldn’t tell the difference. All buildings looked similar to her—boxlike, unimaginative and dull. She can’t say the same now.

“We’re here,” the Uber driver announces, breaking her out from her musing.

Satisfied with the transaction, Mazikeen rates the driver for a lower rating. That blatant leering since she entered the car, clinches the two star rating. Her phone vibrates to indicate the bill from Uber arrives, Mazikeen checks the email once and leaves the car.

It’s a neighbourhood of white-picket fences, manicured lawns and massive concrete dwellings for families and their many polished façades. Ask Mazikeen how hell looks like, she’d say hell has many faces, this neighbourhood and all neighbours of its kind is one of them.  

She looks down at her phone, the map app displaying their location. “Allow me,” is all she says, before taking the lead to one of the houses. She notices a beige-coloured station wagon parked at the curb. “We have company,” she states, directing a finger at the station wagon.

“Splendid. The more the merrier,” Lucifer says, his steps remain energetic despite the measured gait he adopted. The walk to Kevin Gonzalez’s home is short. Right as they reach the front porch, Chloe Decker and her dark-haired friend arrive, panting like dogs.

Mazikeen calculates their current situation. She won’t be able to extract the information they required through normal means. Secrecy of her and Lucifer’s true nature is paramount. So, Mazikeen bids her time and waits for Lucifer’s further instruction.  

“What are you doing here?” asks Chloe, doubling over and gasping for air. Then straightens her posture, her chin held high. She narrows her eyes at Lucifer suspiciously.  

“On a LUX Club-related business, which I can assure you is the furthest away from the murder investigation you have going on,” Lucifer replies, smirking.

Chloe sneers, crossing her arms over her chest. “Yeah, right. And cows have wings.”

“Would you like to witness my interview with Kevin? I heard it helps to widen _certain_ tunnel vision.”

“Like a collaboration?” Chloe says, scepticism flashing across her features.  

“Yes, until you catch Delilah’s murderer and my business with Kevin will conclude shortly hence the rest of my afternoon will be free. Justice for Delilah.”

“Okay. But I get to ring the bell,” Chloe retorts without hesitation, inserting herself between the front door and Lucifer.

Mazikeen’s fingertips graze over her skirt. Particularly, the scabbard strapped to her thigh. It’s a reflex honed by her nature, part of the Lilim, driven to secure one’s safety at all cost.    

“Ella Lopez,” the brunette glances uncertainly at Chloe, “we don’t share any classes together but I write for the school paper. You know, the Science Fiction section.”

Ella turns to Lucifer, launching into a hug. Lucifer merely parts a polite smile at the sudden intrusion of personal space. He dips his head low, briefly— _no trouble here_ , that slight curving of his lip makes his message clear. He’s amused.  

Ella lets go of Lucifer, set her big dark eyes on Mazikeen. “I love the way you play the piano. It’s awesome,” Ella praises, raising both thumbs up at Lucifer.

With the end of her lips quirking into a smirk, Ella suddenly wraps her arms around Mazikeen, tipping her head backwards and lets Mazikeen go. “Wow. You’re taller than I expected,” Ella asserts, smiling.

She’s saved from replying as the door swings wide open. Greeting them four is a wrinkly, elfin Hispanic woman. Her glasses perching on the edge of her nose, as she peers to get a better look at them. She permits a warm toothy smile, pushing the glasses up to her nose.

Chloe waves enthusiastically at the old woman. “Hi, we’re friends of Kevin. From school. We’re here for our study group. Kevin mentioned that it’s his turn to host the study session.”

Mazikeen shoves Ella to the front, allowing Chloe and Ella to take centre stage. She’s been told that she lacks the warmth required to disarm the people’s natural defensive walls. Mazikeen won’t push her luck when she can’t succeed.

“Don’t need to call Kevin for us. Just point us the way,” says Ella, holding up her sling bag high enough for the old woman to see.

The old woman, Mazikeen suspects must be Kevin’s grandmother due to similarity of their noses and lips, imparts the instructions to Kevin’s room. Promising to bring cookies, milk and whatever she could scrooge from the kitchen for them. Chloe and Ella offer to stay with Mrs Ensco and take the refreshment to their ‘study group’ themselves.

Mazikeen and Lucifer find Kevin Gonzalez in his bedroom. Right where his grandmother stated he’ll be. Unaware to the situation waiting for him. Through the ajar door, Mazikeen observes him flexing his muscles with a dumbbell. A brief scan around his room, reveals the room has no security cameras. Plenty mirrors to reflect the vanity the boy has. He’s of medium height, stocky and well-built as a result of his involvement in sports. Still, he has nothing on Mazikeen’s years of vicious upbringing and penchant for necessary violence.

“Let’s loosen his tongue up, Mazikeen. No bruises, please. I just want his full cooperation,” Lucifer says, a smile tugging the corners of his lips.

“As you wish,” Mazikeen affirms, pushing the door wide. Catching Kevin off guard. His mouth drops open, his eyes widens—the shock is fleeting at best, then anger replaces confusion.

“Kevin, that’s not the way you should welcome your guests,” Lucifer warns, jovially. “This private conversation won’t last. I’ll cut to the chase. We’ll require your cooperation, Kevin. No lies, preferably.”

Mazikeen understands his surprise. His vulgar response. She thinks for a moment or two, to extend civility or not. She doesn’t like his tone—and his threat. Not that Lucifer minds.

“Delilah sure knows how to pick the best of men, does she?” Lucifer mutters, amusingly. His eyes are not blue—it’s only blue to ignorant eyes. But to Mazikeen, his eyes glow amber like solar flares, fiery and unyielding. They’re breathtakingly gorgeous and are scrutinising a framed photo of young Kevin with Peyton Manning.

Mazikeen dashes—faster than the human eye could see—hands around Kevin’s upper torso. Pins him against the wall. Her slender hand covering his mouth. “He’s terrible.”

Lucifer cocks his head sideways, lifting one brow at Kevin. “I always wonder what she’d seen in him. But since you’re the last person she treasured on some level, Kevin. We’ll go gentle on you. Because if you persist on those lies,” Lucifer pauses, permitting a devilish grin to grace his lips. He twists his head to her and says, “Mazikeen, give us a smile.”

And so Mazikeen smiles. Without glamour. Kevin will see her. Will see her true face. The skinless, exposed flesh that stretched from her forehead to her chin, half of a nose to her missing ear and socket devoid of an eye.

The glamour returns to her—in time as the girls enter the room. Mazikeen releases her hold on Kevin. Letting the boy gather his scrambling wits off the floor. She’d wiped out of any thoughts of hostility burgeoning within Kevin. _Good_.

“Let’s get the interview going,” quips Chloe, eyeing Kevin with great interest. She sets down the tray on Kevin’s desk. Marches towards Kevin, backing him against the wall. Meanwhile Ella busies herself with the cookies she brought.

“What do you want from me?” Kevin squeaks, his eyes narrowing.

Lucifer keeps his distance between the girls and Kevin, gazing towards the window.

Mazikeen moves to the door, standing in front of him. Barricading the door from any potential threats and the possibility of Kevin fleeing from them.

“We just got a couple of questions for you,” Chloe answers, producing her notepad and a pen from her jeans pocket. Kevin doesn’t exude the anger he displayed previously. Answering all the questions Chloe tossed at his direction with meekness Mazikeen didn’t know he possess. Chloe jotting down the notes furiously. Ella proffers him with a glass of milk to calm his nerves, arm with her sunshine smile.

“Your turn,” says Chloe, directing her thumb at Kevin.

Lucifer tears his attention from the windows. Staring at Kevin, he brushes off imaginary dust of his shoulders. “I received a note stating you’ve been dealing drugs in the LUX Club. I would like to get my confirmation straight from the source. So, how do you plea?”

“I do, but not your place. _Never_ the LUX,” Kevin implores, his voice shaking. “You have to believe me. I would never deal in your place.”

“Marvellous. Where to next?” Lucifer inquires, shifts his sight to Chloe and grins. “I believe Kevin had generously provided us with a name, didn’t he?”

“Wait a minute, what do you think you’re doing?” Chloe splutters.

Lucifer scoffs, shrugging his shoulders. “What else? We’re joining you in your investigation, Decker. Less you’d think we’re still the culprits behind Delilah’s murder.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing in Mazikeen's p.o.v is a lot harder than I initially thought. I don't know if it even comes across as funny, since Mazikeen of the comics is one serious woman. Either way, I hope everyone enjoys this.


	6. Dan, The Sane Man.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On a basic level, she understands why she’s the chauffeur, Chloe Decker rides the shotgun and Lucifer Morningstar and Mazikeen Smith, his possible bodyguard/girlfriend/sidekick, occupying the station wagon’s backseat.

On a basic level, she understands why she’s the chauffeur, Chloe Decker rides the shotgun and Lucifer Morningstar and Mazikeen Smith, his possible bodyguard/girlfriend/sidekick, occupying the station wagon’s backseat.

Ella’s the one with the car. Chloe’s the one with the plan. Lucifer failed his driving exam twice—apparently he couldn’t shake the British driving off his bones. Mazikeen, despite being tall and having the prettiest resting bitch face, is apparently the youngest among them. A year younger than all of them.

Ella glances at her passenger pouting and arms crossed defiantly. “Why the grumpy cat face?”

Chloe opts not to answer, but chooses to huff instead. Chloe glaring at her passengers helps to answer Ella’s rhetorical question.

Ella stops at a red light, sneaking a peek at her passengers. Lucifer hasn’t lose his smirk since he entered her car. Mazikeen—well, as long as she’s not boring holes into Ella’s back, Ella’s a happy chauffeur—stares at the windows. “I thought this is what you wanted? That’s why you came up with Plan A.”

Honestly speaking, she still isn’t sure what Plan A is. Only that Chloe planned to trick Lucifer into interviewing Kevin and gate-crashing the interview. She wasn’t paying attention after the rest three minutes. Everything’s too convoluted, in Ella’s humble opinion. And she was in the middle of reading her old Star Trek comics.

“Plan A didn’t include a tag along with Mister Suits and his girlfriend,” Chloe hisses, her jaw’s muscle tightens.

“Say what you want about them, but I think it’s cool we have them,” Ella replies, starts driving as the traffic light turns green and adds, “I feel safe.”

Chloe raises a single eyebrow, and gasps, “ _Safe_?”

“I know you’re a cop’s daughter, Chloe. But I also have seen you with a Taser gun and a pepper spray. You’re a walking hazard.”

“Am not.”

“Yes, you are,” Ella fires back, and switching the radio on, as they both fall into silence. The rest of the drive is smooth, to Ella at least. She can’t say the same for Chloe. She’s been grinding her teeth—plotting Lucifer and Mazikeen’s imaginary deaths probably. But they arrive at the bowling alley in one piece, Ella’s grateful for small miracles.

“How long you think this deal will last?” Ella asks, motioning at her passengers. The pair comes out from her car, looking very much out of place. A tall and slender boy decked in slim-fitting tuxedo. The other, dressed in a very lovely evening dress right out from Pinterest—rocking that stone cold bitch aura, Ella must admit, she’s swooned a little.

“Until we find Delilah’s murder,” Chloe grumbles, then lightens up, “or when they get bored.”

As she closes the door, locks it and about to head inside when someone familiar shouts at their direction, “Hey, Decker! Lopez, wait up!”

Dan Espinoza jogs to the car, his face set in a half-pout and half-frown. “What is this I hear you two playing Nancy Drew?”

Chloe wheels on her heels, staring at Ella. Her eyes all bugged out. “You _told_ him?” Chloe says, sounding outraged.

Ella retorts, “I thought he knew.”

Chloe’s head shakes sideways furiously, “No, he doesn’t. What makes you think I told him, knowing he’ll be like this?”

Dan interrupts them, “This is not _Clueless_. Are you out of your goddamn minds?”

Ella chimes in, “Actually, it’s not Nancy Drew. Nancy Drew has friends, Bess and George. With Mazikeen, she actually qualifies to be George. I would say that I could be a George too—”

“Enough about the Nancy Drew talk. But seriously?” Dan glances at Lucifer and Mazikeen, both strutting into the bowling alley. “With _them_? I mean, isn’t there any _other_ students than them?”

“What’s wrong with them?” Chloe demands, jabbing at Dan’s chest.

“Chloe,” Dan says, rubbing his face and his lips pressed into a thin line, “You’re playing detective on a case closed by the police. Not only that you’re running around chasing a phantom killer with Morningstar and his girlfriend. Did you know Morningstar has a club whose members had committed various degree of criminal offenses?” His neck strained with popping veins.

“Malcolm isn’t exactly a saint and you don’t hear me _yapping_ about him being a bad friend to you,” Chloe rebukes sharply, arching a brow.

“T-they’re nice,” Ella helpfully supplies. At this rate, she’s forgotten—while Chloe and Dan are locked in their staring battle.  

“Look, Dan, you may not care about Delilah. But _I_ do, she’s not the type to commit suicide, Dan. She still had hope. So, I’m going to get to the bottom of her death—even if I had to get help from someone like Morningstar and his scary girlfriend!”

Both are fuming with rage—or rekindled attraction, Ella can’t tell. She’ll need to observe more. Until then, she’s betting on seething annoyance. The silence stretches for a full minute, two minutes tops.

Dan throws his hands up in the air, groaning. “ _Fine_!” He attempts to choke empty air before ruffling his hair. Dan sighs. “Let’s get Delilah some justice and I’m coming along. No buts.”

* * *

This is _fantastic_. Chloe needed fresh eyes. Now, she has four pairs of fresh eyes to help. None of them are remotely insightful, except Ella. She’s not even sure what’s the point of Lucifer and Mazikeen tagging along. Or why they chose to partner up with her.

Chloe only needed them to gain access to Kevin—they have better chances of getting Kevin to talk than two girls from the Journalism Club. With Kevin’s interview, the LUX Club effectively drops down from her suspect list.

And yet, Lucifer insisted, stating that ‘four heads are better than two’ and he doesn’t take ‘No’ for an answer. It doesn’t help that stupidly handsome boy might be right. The fear he easily dispatch at Kevin—Chloe hates to say it— _contributed_ a lot to Kevin’s brutal honesty.

[Ella _might_ be right on Chloe’s ability to yield a Taser gun and a pepper spray. Although in her defence, the wind was blowing in the wrong direction when she tried to pepper-spray the student.]

Then, there’s Dan. Looming over their shoulders like a worried parent. “So, who you’re interviewing? The boyfriend?”

“No,” Ella pipes up, “We already did that.”

“Then, who’s this?”

“An old secret admirer,” Ella answers.

“And he’s relevant. How?”

“He also was Delilah’s best friend before she dated Kevin.”

Chloe scans the bowling alley for Lucifer and Mazikeen. Finds them both by the concession stand. Sipping sodas, by the looks of it. As well as chatting to a scruffy-looking boy. The boy has unkempt short and bleached blond hair and mischievous blue eyes.

“I’d be willing to give to ya for free, if you’re up for a little tumbling around the sheets,” the boy says, winking at Lucifer, in a British accent. Not refined and polished like Lucifer’s, his accent is rather rough around the edges. “Invite the lady too.”

Lucifer’s lips twitch into a knowing smirk, “I would have accepted the offer had I not been privy to your unfortunate habit of screwing people over, John. As for Mazikeen, you’ll have to ask her yourself.”

“So, what’s your answer, love?” John wiggling his eyebrows suggestively at Mazikeen.

Mazikeen eyes him from the bottom of his shoes to the tip of his hair. “I’m in a long-term relationship with the King of Hell,” she deadpans.

“Well, then _this_ ,” John brandishes a CD album from his pocket, feigns a hurt expression, “is going to cost you two hundred bucks, love.”

“Consider it a done deal,” Lucifer produces his wallet, slapping the dollar bills into John’s hand. “Get yourself quality cigarettes. Not the cheap ones that’s going to cost you your health.”

John bids them farewell. Before he leaves the bowling ring, he winks at Chloe—or was it Dan?

“What’s that about?” Chloe asks, peering at the CD album. There’s nothing extraordinary about it. Looks to Chloe, like one of those generic CDs with a handwritten label.  

Lucifer pockets the CD album into his jacket, and smiles. “I bought John’s collection of experimental music. Would you like to give it a listen? A review for the paper. John could use the good press.”

“He’s a musician? Huh, doesn’t strike me as one. But the late Christopher Lee released several symphonic metal albums. He must have a voice of an angel,” Ella comments. “Hidden depths.”

“Whatever. Let’s see if we could find Tom Brandt,” she says, putting an end to their meaningless chatting. The manager points to one of their employees moping the floor. Tom is skinny, with a clean-crew haircut and a case of bad-acne.  

Chloe takes the lead, approaching him first. She flashes a charming smile at him. “Tom Brandt?”

“Uh huh,” Tom replies, without averting his gaze from the floor. Diligently scrubbing dried puke off the linoleum floor.

“You’re a friend of Delilah’s?”

His attention snaps to Chloe. Takes in the fact there are five people closing in on him. His eyes darting from Ella to Dan, lingers a second too long on Mazikeen and Lucifer before settling to Chloe. “Yeah,” Tom stammers, “who are you people?”

Chloe repeats her introduction and the possible theory of Delilah’s death. Throws a glare at that smug wearing kid. Lucifer sips his soda drink loudly every five seconds, interrupting her flow. Trust Mazikeen to harmonize with Lucifer’s soda drinking to add more fuel to Chloe’s annoyance. It’s like the pair can’t go a minute without attempting to make Chloe’s life miserable.  

[Thank God, they empty their soda faster than Chloe had expected. Lucifer crushes his soda can and drops it to a nearby bin. Mazikeen goes to refill hers. Damn.]

“So you think Delilah’s being murdered,” Tom says flatly, the sloshing of his mop stops. His lips pursed in thought. The mop’s handle resting on his shoulder.  

“Yeah, we think—” Ella’s words are tragically short when Tom slaps his hands together.

“I knew it!” Tom exclaims, “There’s no way she would die of an overdose. Delilah doesn’t touch that stuff.”

“Because it interferes with her studying,” Chloe states, recalling her sole meeting with Delilah.

Tom’s head wildly shaking from left to right. “No. That’s not it. Delilah’s mum. She died of a drug overdose when Delilah was ten. So Delilah really hated drugs.”

“What about her biological father?” Dan asks, crossing his well-toned arms together and steps next to Chloe’s side. His blue eyes narrowing in interest.

“Well, her dad died when she was five. Hung himself in his apartment after he lost custody of Delilah to her mother and step-dad.”

“No ideas on who would want Delilah dead then?”

“None that I can think of,” Tom’s voice trails off, scratching his chin. “But I always thought her step-dad has that creepy vibe.”

“Creepy vibe?” Ella chimes in.

“Back when we used to hang out, her step-dad kept a tight leash on her. Always calling her, wanting to know where she was and who she hung out with. I caught him peeking on her while she changed several times. I tried telling Delilah but she brushed it off, saying it’s nothing. By the look on her step-dad’s face, I don’t buy it.”

“And you didn’t mention this to the police because?” Chloe inquires. Boy, did her dad miss out on some crucial information. No wonder they were quick to brand her death an overdose.

Tom shrugs his shoulders. “I didn’t think it was important,” Tom replies, sheepishly. He starts mopping the practically shiny floor.

“Now, that _can’t_ be the answer. Isn’t it, Tom?” Lucifer refutes, his lips curling into a lopsided grin. He cocks a brow at Tom. “Your friendship was over before she dated Kevin. With her predilection towards certain boys, I doubt you’re just the socially awkward boy as your appearance suggests.”

He sighs. Wipes his sweaty brow with his sleeve. His shoulders slumping, he confesses, “I-she caught me peeping on her and the cheerleading squad.”

“A literal Peeping Tom? _Wouldn’t_ have guessed it,” Lucifer surmises, with a smile that says otherwise.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you spot the cameo? If you guess John Constantine, then you're right. Also I didn't expect to include Dan but here he is, into the story as well. Guess I got to add him now.


	7. Bad Ideas.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And Chloe just dragged four other kids along to imminent deaths, if Lady Luck decides to bail on her today. Her dad won’t be able to kill her for being stupid, seeing how she might be too dead for that.

“We are _not_ going to visit her step-dad,” Dan Espinoza warns.  

“Why not?” Chloe challenges.

“Did you _miss_ the part where Peeping Tom said her step-dad could be the killer?” His voice dramatically hitches, sounding out like a squeak instead.

Chloe rolls her eyes. “ _No_ , I didn’t.”

Dan jams the heel of his hand against his eye socket. “Then why take the risk to visit a potential murderer?”

“Why are you so worried? I got a Taser gun and pepper spray in case he tries to attack us. And I got my dad on the Police Department on speed dial.”

“Yeah and we have Luce—” Lucifer’s lips are flat, and his forehead wrinkling that Ella hastily adds, “—cifer and Maze.”

Lucifer’s smile returns. Mazikeen’s eyebrow twitches at the word ‘Maze’. “I rather not be called after a labyrinth.”

“O-okay. _Not_ Maze. How about Maz without the ‘e’?” Ella corrects herself, laughing nervously.  

“ _No_.”

Ella changes her tune, with Mazikeen glaring at her from the backseat. “Okay, got it. _Mazikeen_. Not Maze. Not Maz.”

“We should let your dad handle this,” Dan tries once more. Objecting from the backseat, sticks his chin out beside Chloe’s seat.

“And risk getting my ass grounded for eternity?”

Dan suggests, “Lie to him, then.”

Chloe snorts. “My dad isn’t going to believe me. He know I’d lie before I even say a word. So, _no_.”

“Leave an anonymous tip then,” Dan grumbles, “why are you stopping the car, Ella?”

Ella lets out a nervous laugh. “Oops, we’re here.”

“Where’s _here_?” Dan questions, tossing a side glance at Ella.

Ella sighs. “Gilbert’s residence. Mister Michael Gilbert.”

“Who?”

“Delilah McCord’s step-father,” Chloe says, in excitement.

Her brows furrowed. “I thought we all agree to visit Mister Gilbert,” Ella explains, sticks her lower lip in a pout.

“No, we didn’t,” counters Dan. “This is a _bad_ idea.”

“Let’s take a vote. All in favour for Daniel to shut up?” Chloe announces, looking straight into Dan’s eyes.

Chloe raises her hand high, smirking. Ella matches her gesture. Mazikeen holds a finger up that everyone can see. Lucifer throws his vote of ‘yes’ with his arm hand sticking in the air. Dan huffs, folding his arms across his chest in defiance.

A huge smile splits her face. Chloe lifts a victorious brow at Dan. “See? So, _shut_ up, Daniel.”

Before Chloe could devise a cover, Lucifer opens the door and gets out from the car. If he tells the truth, it defeats the purpose of the reconnaissance. Lucifer might be a suit-wearing, well-groomed boy, but he’s still a boy. Mister Gilbert could have a gun for all Chloe know. A tailored suit is not a bulletproof vest.

[And Chloe just dragged four other kids along to imminent deaths, if Lady Luck decides to bail on her today. Her dad won’t be able to kill her for being stupid, seeing how she might be too dead for that.]

Chloe jumps out from the car. _Literally_. Sprints towards Lucifer, one outstretched hand waiting to slap Lucifer’s hand. Lucifer’s hand is inches away from the doorbell. Alas the bell rings before she could swat his hand.

“Hello, Mister Gilbert. I’m,” she pauses to take a deep breath, struggling to maintain her smile, “Chloe Decker from Vertigo High.” She shoots a glare at Lucifer for a second, then flashing a smile back at Mister Gilbert. “This is Lucifer Morningstar. We’re writing a tribute to Delilah for the school’s paper.”

When Peeping Tom—err, Tom Brandt—mentioned about the step-dad’s peeping activities, Chloe assumed he’d be one creepy dude. A bad case of halitosis. Stringy hair, shabby beard and clothes taken from a hunter’s catalogue. That kind.

He isn’t. Mister Gilbert wears a turquoise turtleneck vest. His brown hair thinning on the back. No beard, just a pencil-thin moustache. He smiles, his brown eyes glazing at the mere mention of Delilah’s name. “And you’re here for?”

“We’re hoping to get a few pictures of Delilah,” Chloe replies.

Just as the other three reach the front porch, the weather decides to take a different turn. _Downpour_. Just great. The house’s porch isn’t spacious, forcing them to cramp together in the porch. Chloe’s right shoulder is pressed against Lucifer’s forearm. Squashed between the wall and Chloe is Ella tiptoeing on her heels. Mazikeen’s breath is hot on Chloe’s neck. Dan’s trying to hold himself from falling off the porch with the little space left.

“Come in,” Gilbert says, waving all five of them to enter his home.

The air inside the home is stale and hot. Like there hasn’t been any fresh air since two weeks ago. The house’s neat. Organised. The furniture comprises of two-seater couch, an armchair and a coffee table. Thick drapes hanging over the windows, blocking viewers from peeking into the home. Pictures of Delilah decorating the walls, almost like an evolutionary chart from her being a baby to sixteen. Hardly any pictures of his wife though. About two to three, compared to Delilah’s twenty-ish pictures.  

“Have a seat,” Gilbert motions around the couch. Then dabs his forehead with the end of his sleeve.

“O-okay, Mister Gilbert,” Chloe answers, flashing him a quick smile. The couch’s only meant for two, not three. While Chloe, Ella and Dan squeeze themselves into the couch, Lucifer makes the wisest choice to occupy the armchair. Mazikeen sitting on the chair’s forearm, her shapely legs crossed.

“Is it me or someone has a fetish for uniforms?” Dan murmurs. Chloe nudges her elbow at Dan’s rib, shutting him up.

If Gilbert heard Dan’s comment, he doesn’t show it. His lips part to reveal uneven teeth, a nervous smile adorning his features. He produces several thick albums from underneath the coffee table, passes them around.

“I’ll bring you kids some sodas,” Gilbert says softly, walking towards the kitchen.

Dan’s ‘uniform’ comment isn’t out of place. Nearly half of Delilah’s pictures are her wearing uniforms. One of those Catholic school uniforms. Not too recent, judging from the style.

“She’s smart,” Ella points a finger at another wall. The wall’s the only one in the entire house that isn’t fitted with pictures of Delilah, but her awards. Accomplishments in AP courses. Like wow. “She’s not smart. She’s a genius,” says Dan, studying each framed award closely.

“Not a genius. But a hard-worker,” Mazikeen informs. Chloe can’t argue with Mazikeen. She’d seen how Delilah handled her bookkeeping duties. The girl’s detailed and you don’t get that way on talent alone.

“Keep him busy,” Chloe whispers to Ella and excuses herself to the toilet.

Along the way, more pictures hung on the walls. These are small size with faux-gold photo frames. Only these photos are not solo shoots of Delilah.

It’s Delilah and Michael Gilbert. Locked in each other’s embrace—not the kind Chloe and her dad has, you know, loving and _familial_. Chloe can only describe the photos as “intimate”. Judging from the expressions on Delilah’s face, this intimate affair is fairly one-sided on Gilbert’s part.

Chloe locks the toilet door. Slips a pair of gloves on. Yes, she brought her own gloves wherever she goes. Might never know when she’d stumble into evidence of any crime. In this case, the thrash can of murder suspects. No way would she want to leave her fingerprints on the items and contaminate them.

She upends the bin, sifts through the thrash. Chloe whips her phone and snaps several pictures of the bin’s contents. Two untorn ticket stubs for the movie Gilbert claimed he watched on the day of Delilah’s overdose. Empty prescription bottles, all under Gilbert’s name. There’s something familiar about the drugs on the bottles’ labels. She consults her notepad. Sees the drugs’ scientific names in Delilah’s toxic screen test. It’s the _same_. She found the drugs that killed Delilah.

[Holy shit, Michael Gilbert _killed_ Delilah. For what reason, Chloe isn’t too sure now. But holy _fucking_ shit, she _did_ it. She finally _found_ Delilah’s killer. Holy shit—there _are_ four teenagers flipping through photo albums in the living room.]

 _Think_ , Chloe. She needs to get them out from the home immediately. But first, she has to keep her cool. She needs to put the thrash back into the bin. Sends a short SOS message to Ella, and Chloe quickly gets out from the toilet. Just in time to catch Gilbert to ask questions about Chloe.

Gilbert’s voice floats down to the corridor leading to the toilet. “Where’s your friend, the blonde?”

Dan answers, “Oh, she went to the toilet.”

“T-the toilet?” Gilbert questions, and his tone abruptly deepens.  

“Yeah, and here she is,” Ella replies, waving at Chloe.

“Any problems, Miss Decker?”

“I must have got something from the tacos I had yesterday, Mister Gilbert,” Chloe lies, making a show out of wiping the corners of her mouth with her thumb.

“Ah, yes.”

“So,” Chloe says, lifting her both brows at Ella. Tipping her head at the door. Legs and her entire body facing the door. That’s as subtle as Chloe could think of, to remind Ella they need to get out from here.

“So,” Ella echoes. Her face working that expression which Chloe assumes is one massive confusion. Then it dawns to her what Chloe’s trying to hint. “We got good pics of Delilah for the paper,” Ella replies, in that awkward and stilted tone—she’s a terrible liar.

“Oh, we do? Then, we’re done here. It’s getting late, Mister Gilbert,” Chloe says, tapping against her empty wrist. Oops. Chloe doesn’t allow Mister Gilbert to reply, instead she herds all of them out from the house like they’re a bunch of lost sheep.

“Do you mind explaining?” Dan hisses as they stride towards Ella’s car.

“Let’s just get into the car and I’ll explain,” says Chloe, tosses a look over her shoulder. She catches Mister Gilbert reaching for his keys and heading for his garage.

When Ella drives away from the Gilbert’s residence, Chloe shares her discoveries. Dan’s not impressed, countering with what ifs. Lucifer and Mazikeen engaged in a conversation disconnected from theirs. Chloe can’t tell what they’re talking about—seeing both of them are speaking in a language she could describe as musically pleasing and highly sophisticated.

“Everyone buckle up,” Ella announces, “we got company.” She steps on the gas, increasing the speed. Manoeuvring expertly on the road as she swerves to left. ‘Company’ tries to ram into the car’s bumper. Dan goes into backseat-driving mode. Chloe tries to get a better look—it’s Michael Gilbert driving like a maniac.

The station wagon gets a hit. Ella manages to bring the car into control. Another slam at the bumper. Ella moves out from Gilbert’s lane. Zig-zagging to lose him.

Who knew Ella’s an excellent driver, Chloe files that information for later use. Lucifer’s completely unfettered, looking at his watch—like he’s bored. Mazikeen? For some reason, she’s supporting a slasher smile on her face.

“Where do you want me to drive?”

“Somewhere safe,” Dan replies.

“To the nearest police station.”

“Ok—”

She could feel the sudden impact of metal meeting metal at high speed. Hears tempered glass cracks and shatters. Little pieces of glass cuts through her skin. The car spins away from the road. Slides down the grassy slopes. Rams into a tree. Chloe’s vision goes black.

* * *

Her first breath stings. Her tongue tastes acrid coppery tang of blood. Shattered glasses embed on her forehead—she must have smashed her forehead at the windows. The last droplets of rain splashing on her face, washing blood away from her forehead. Mazikeen tries to stand up, but can’t. She’s pinned to her seat. She opens her eyes, sees a steel rod impaling her chest. That explains her pained breath. And the reason she’s stuck to the seat. Otherwise, she still retains her faculties.  

She hears Lucifer’s voice, unaffected and mild annoyance creeping out from his tone, “Mazikeen, sustain any life-threatening injuries?

Mazikeen glances down at the steel sticking out from her chest, her fingers coiling around the steel. “A mortal flesh wound,” Mazikeen murmurs, yanking the steel out with one forceful jerk. “Nothing I can’t heal from,” she groans, chucking the twisted rail over her shoulder with ease. Her healing ability kicks in, mending her ripped lungs and gashed muscles into the smooth skin and functional lungs. Like she never had a hole in her chest in the first place.

She brushes the dirt off her wet hair and swipes the fragmented glasses from her forehead. “How about you, My Lord?”

“Just the suit took a beating,” Lucifer answers, pushing his damp golden hair away from his eyes. He removes his blazer, ties around his waist and rolls his sleeves up to his elbows.

Mazikeen notes the tattered condition his suit in. Mud and oil tarnish his unblemished face. His hair flat from the rain. Her lips curling into a smirk she can’t help to display.

“I never really like the colour anyway,” Lucifer retorts, returning her smirk with his own. He bends over Ella and Chloe, checking their wrists for a pulse. “They’re unconscious but alive.”

“So as Dan,” Mazikeen utters. He isn’t pin down to his seat, like she did. Mazikeen checks him for any serious injuries. No torn skin, except for the cuts on his hands and neck. Cracked ribs most likely. One lucky kid. She carries him in her arms, bridal-style—not that he’ll ever know. Places him on a grassless ground, before returning to the site of car crash.

Mazikeen releases Ella from the seatbelt strapped across her body. Slices the seatbelt with her dagger. Mazikeen moves the girl from the wrecked car to the ground—next to Dan’s. She spares a glance at Lucifer’s direction.

Lucifer grabs the front bummer, tearing it away from Chloe without a fuss. Lucifer slips one arm underneath her legs and the other supporting her back. “Do you think she’ll escape from her father’s wrath now that she has acquired this broken leg?” He lifts a brow at her, grinning.

“Break another and I think daddy would be _relieved_ that she can’t leave the house for a couple of months,” Mazikeen snorts. She catches a gun’s barrel glinting in the dark coast. The shooter aims the gun at their direction. He shoots. And misses.

Lucifer doesn’t flinch. Mazikeen’s skin itches for a payback.

“It seems like our driver wants to confirm we’re dead for himself,” Lucifer remarks, face set in calm expression.

“How would you like me to proceed?”

“I’d say, go forth and unleash hell,” Lucifer says, “And Mazikeen?”

Mazikeen doesn’t avert her sight from their shooter. A predatory smile snaking her lips crookedly—the perfect symmetry of her face is gone. Only half of a beautiful face, she proudly exhibits.  Gripping her dagger tightly, and says, “Yes, My Lord?”

“He doesn’t deserve our pity.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end is near. And I didn't expect it to spiral this long. But yes, Mazikeen finally gets to play with her daggers.


	8. Unexpected Visitor.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He watches in silence. He has seen it all. It has gone long enough. All these chaotic tomfoolery. The man shall pay for his crimes in accordance to human laws. The human will pay his due again for when his time has come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look who just pops up.

He watches in silence. He has seen it all. It has gone long enough. All these chaotic tomfoolery. The man shall pay for his crimes in accordance to human laws. The human will pay his due again for when his time has come.

“That’s enough,” his voice booms, and he freezes a second’s flash between the Lilim’s blade and the human’s heart. A beating heart goes still. The Lilim’s blade hangs suspended in the air. And all around them are petrified like stationary statues. His wings—black and large—snaps open.

“Brother, how _nice_ of you to join us,” Lucifer opens, his lips bearing a brazen grin. His arms folded over his chest. His eyes of luminescent amber sparkling with amusement.

“Lilim, his penance is not _your_ decision,” Amenadiel admonishes. His left wing swipes the blade away. It clangs unceremoniously on the ground. He withdraws his wing back, hands clasped together in front of him.

The Lilim slips into an attacking position, her blade already in her hand. Given the chance, she rather take Amenadiel head on. She forgoes her glamour—Amenadiel notes the disfigured half of her face and her brain matter exposed. He lets out a sigh of disgust. Reckless Lilim. But it’s not his concern for the moment. For time is frozen for everyone but them three.

Lucifer shifts his weight to his other leg. Raises a hand to halt the Lilim. “Mazikeen, Amenadiel has a point,” his brother agrees, “Maybe he’ll rot in jail. Perhaps _not_.” The Lilim snarls at Amenadiel, yet returns to Lucifer’s side.

Lucifer rubs his chin. His lips quirking into a broad smirk. “I was beginning to wonder when you will honour us with your _divine_ presence.” He gestures at the unconscious teenagers lying on the ground. “It would have been nice to have you popping up _before_ the children are harmed.”

Amenadiel levels a stern look at his brother. “Father _wants_ you to return to Hell,” he decrees.   

“The Old Man’s desire is not my concern,” Lucifer bristles.

“It’s His command for you to take your place in Hell.”

“The last I heard through the grapevine, Father sent his _obedient_ angels to govern it,” Lucifer states, peering at his fingernails like they’re far important compared to Amenadiel. “Either way, my presence is unwarranted.”

“Remiel and Duma are not the ones who are supposed to reign over Hell,” Amenadiel counters.

“What? You _don’t_ like their job performance?” Lucifer scoffs. “Remiel and Duma are doing one _hell_ of a job, seeing how they manage to make Hell even worse than when I was part of Hell’s triumvirate.” He lifts his eyebrow cockily. His grin widens. “Isn’t that what Father’s _grand_ idea of Hell was?” He emphasises the word ‘Father’ with absolute disdain.

Amenadiel’s wings aberrantly flare in a moment of unrestrained anger. Amenadiel takes a deep breath in, pinching the bridge of his nose. Dealing with a stubborn Sam—Lucifer is impossible, and never endears Lucifer to Amenadiel. He hasn’t win a single riposte against Lucifer’s poisoned tongue. Guess that score’s still intact.

“Now, if you don’t mind, brother.” Lucifer directs a thumb at the mortal children, “I like to get home and wash up in the next two hours. But if you want to explain the authorities why they’re missing two teenagers after a fun night, be my guest.”

“You don’t have your wings. You can’t fly,” Amenadiel points out.

“Yes, but mankind has wonderful technological advances since you last visited,” Lucifer replies, smoothly. He reaches into his back pocket, producing a small matchbox and hands it over to Mazikeen the Lilim. “Strike a match, destination the penthouse, Mazikeen.”

This kind of callous disrespect irks Amenadiel. He already made a mess, leaving Hell for Earth. Now, his _dearest_ brother decides to flee and leave his problems for others to pick up. “Where you think you’re going?” Amenadiel chides, his wings bristling.

Lucifer clucks his tongue twice. “Home. Like you graciously reminded me, I can’t fly. Uber won’t drive out here. So that leaves transportation via portal. You’d be amaze the tricks these parlour magicians could do with their boundless creativity.”

“Done,” Amenadiel agrees. He rescinds his hold over time. A human’s heart beats again. A black feather glides across the air as the wind breeze blows. The man collapses on his knees, shaking from the fear.

Mazikeen straightens his legs and she stomps on them—the bones break from the impact. Her voice is hoarse and her words jumbled up in raw balderdash. “So he can’t run away,” she explains, shrugging her shoulders. She takes out an electronic device from her dress, dials a number and speaks to 911. She ends the call several minutes later. “They’ll be here soon.”

“Good work, Mazikeen,” he says, lips curving into a smirk. “You want to stay, brother? You’d have to explain on why you’re dressed for Halloween as a Roman centurion.”

“I’m still keeping my eyes on you, _brother_ ,” Amenadiel hisses, scornful. Amenadiel unfolds his wings large and spread out overhead. He flaps his wings for take-off and leaves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, peeps. I went there. There are Remiel and Duma in this universe. We might see them one day ... or not. I'm aware I cheated a little that I didn't write Mazikeen in action with her daggers. Maybe next time.


	9. Long Night.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chloe Decker wakes up to both of her legs in plaster casts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I decided to combine the comic verse and the TV verse into one. That means you'll probably see some characters from the comics and the TV from time to time.

Chloe Decker wakes up to both of her legs in plaster casts. Ella Lopez resting due to a concussion and her left arm set in a sling. Dan Espinoza with cracked ribs and supporting a neck brace.

Dan snoring, on Chloe’s left. Ella grinding her teeth as she sleeps, at Chloe’s right. All three of them ordered to remain in the hospital for overnight observation.  

Except Lucifer Morningstar and Mazikeen Smith. Both _miraculously_ survived the car crash without a single scratch on them. They were discharged half an hour later, after they arrived the hospital.

Something’s _not_ right. Mazikeen. She _shouldn’t_ be walking around like she just scraped her knees in the crash. Chloe recalls a steel rod. Remembers a hole. Why steel rod? What hole? Chloe rubs her eyes twice, trying to jumpstart her hazy memory.

Steel rod. Impalement. Chest. Mazikeen’s impaled in her chest by a steel rod. How Mazikeen was indifferent to her injuries, as if it was mosquito bite. Yes, that’s right. Chloe _saw_ it with her eyes. She knows it.

But—she _could_ have been _dreaming_. Delirious with the pain spreading from her broken legs. They’ve been in a car crash after all. The car’s descent down the grassy slope could have knocked her head hard.

Anyway, it doesn’t matter. That’s not worth mulling over.

Delilah McCord finally got the justice she deserved.

Michael Gilbert confessed his crime as soon as he could talk. Gilbert had been sexually and emotionally abusing Delilah since she was nine. Obsessed with her, to the point he tried to isolate her away from her friends. It was rather unfortunate Delilah didn’t have much friends to begin with. Made it easier for him to control her when she was younger. Then, she entered high school and spent most of her time at LUX. Like that old adage, absence makes the heart go fonder. Gilbert went crazy—drugging Delilah to subdue her to keep her home.

She doesn’t get the full story from John Decker. Only bits of the story her dad relayed to her in second hand. His idea of punishment. The broken legs are as good as Chloe being grounded until she’s crutch-free. Her dad was even giddy after knowing she would waste her waking moments speculating and guessing to how Gilbert killed Delilah.

There were two tickets. One for Gilbert, the other for Delilah. But Delilah refused to join—he drugged her, to keep her close. But the dosage was fatal. She died. He redressed her in the most innocent-looking clothing he liked and owned; the catholic school uniform. Dumped her in front of the place she spent her time the most.

It’s only her speculation. Give her dad a few days, he’ll eventually cave in and Chloe will have the truth. And when she’s discharged from the ward, she’ll write the true story of Delilah McCord. Set the story straight once and for all.

* * *

Had they _taken_ care of Gilbert the ‘usual’ way, they wouldn’t spend an hour reassuring the police officers—notably Detective John Decker—that Lucifer and Mazikeen don’t need supervision. Mazikeen throws the excuse of their parents uncontactable due the time zones.

[Mazikeen sneers. Lilith isn’t one who Mazikeen would call motherly. There isn’t a doubt in Mazikeen’s bones that Lilith would not even care if any of her grotesque brood perish today, turn ashes tomorrow.]

Mazikeen drives sharp teeth into her thumb. Prickling the skin to draw blood. She thumbs a warding demon sigil on the door. Licking her thumb clean, she turns to Lucifer and asks, “How about your brother?”

“Amenadiel?” Lucifer lifts one brow at her. Shakes his head lightly. Red cherry lips curling into a smirk she’s fond of. He replies, “I wouldn’t worry too much about him. He isn’t terribly bright as angelic brothers go.”

She punches in the code and slides her key at the doorknob. The light turns green, she opens the door. Mazikeen pushes the door, sidestepping to allow him to enter. She locks the door, kicks off her muddy shoes and places them at the shoe rack.

The foyer’s light comes on automatically, illuminating the dark living room, as Lucifer walks towards the bar. He removes the blazer hanging over his shoulder. Sets it on the countertop.

“Let’s see if Constantine has enriched his musical abilities since his last mix-tape.” Lucifer positions the CD into the audio system and plays it. The music has remarkably improved—not solely electronic and the discernible spell chanting disguised as rapping.

“At least it’s English now,” Mazikeen says. “Is he singing about how he loves cigars?”

“Yes,” Lucifer reaffirms, grinning. “But it fulfils its purpose to drain all the energy from the demons.” He returns to the bar, takes a seat on the barstool.

Mazikeen moves over to the bar. Produces two crystalline glasses from the cabinet, and places the glasses on the countertop. She traces a finger along the liquor shelves, before stopping short at Glenmorangie signet and Smirnoff. “Whisky or vodka?”

“I’m in the mood for whisky,” Lucifer answers, fishing a packet of cigarettes out from his blazer’s upper pocket. He clips the cigarette in between two fingers. Tiny flames flickering from his fingertips. Lucifer brings the cigarette’s end to the fire. Closing his palm, he puts the fire out and takes a drag.

Mazikeen unscrews the bottle open, pours the whiskey into two glasses, full. She slides Lucifer’s glass towards him. Mazikeen props an elbow on the countertop, one hand clutching her glass. “Did you always know it was him?”

He draws of the cigarette, long and slow. Blows the smoke upwards, crowning around his golden-hair like a halo. “I had my suspicions. Her bruises. The non-stop calls before she dated Kevin. Her desire to avoid home.”

There’s silence between them. Nothing much to say, really. Their business with the Journalism Club’s concluded. LUX Club is no longer in danger of being with investigated by that pesky Chloe Decker.

Lucifer stamps the butt at the ashtray. Looks down at his glass for a moment. He raises his glass up, the corner of his mouth twisting half a smile. She does the same.

“To Delilah,” Lucifer simply says.

“To Delilah. Her death’s avenged,” Mazikeen agrees.

They clink their glasses. Sipping their whiskey to Constantine’s operatic-pop singing on his cigars in the background, with the spell being recited in the chorus.

“My Lord,” she hesitates.

Lucifer empties his glass, glances at her. A smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Yes, Mazikeen?”

“We need a new tutor. Got mid-terms in two weeks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm acutely aware that mystery part of this story is weak, because it wasn't a major focus. Just a way to get Chloe and Lucifer to plausible work together and meet each other. Until next time.


End file.
